DISHONOUR

‘Tash!’

The sound of his voice made her look up. It was Freddie. She stood bolt up and stared hard at him. She hadn’t seen him for over a month but he still looked the same. Actually, he hadn’t changed much over the years. He wasn’t typical of a man of his age. At fifty-two there was no sign of a middle-age spread creeping up. No receding hairline, no lined face, only a body which a twenty-year-old man would envy. Her husband had had it all. The looks, the money, the gift of the gab, and most of all, the fear factor, but now he was paying a high price for being Freddie Thompson.

Tasha could feel herself turning red. She knew Freddie couldn’t read her thoughts, but it didn’t stop her feeling like he could. It was as if it was written all over her; as if Freddie could see the guilt on her face.

When she’d got the call, she’d pulled on her clothes and been driven straight to the hospital. No time to check to see if her usually immaculate hair was in place. No time to check to make sure there were no creases in her clothes. And if Freddie looked closely, he would know. The telltale signs were all there.

‘All right babe.’ It was all she could manage to say. She didn’t trust herself to say any more. She was trying to keep her voice steady. Hoping Freddie would think her nervousness and her appearance was all down to what had happened to Ray-Ray.

She’d missed the last prison visit and she knew Freddie had been pissed off. He’d sent one of his men round to see her, which she thought he might. Nothing had been said apart from, ‘Freddie was worried you weren’t well; wants to make sure that there isn’t a problem.’

But she knew it hadn’t been a bedside visit, but a little warning to her. Letting her know no matter where she was, no matter what she did, he would be there, right behind her. She belonged to him.

Freddie held her stare and it was only then Tasha became aware of the two screws on either side of him, handcuffed to him. They stood uncomfortably on either side. Both tall and lanky and nondescript, they could almost be mistaken for brothers.

They looked hot in their ill-fitting jackets and matching nylon trousers, unsuitable for the July heat. But more than that, they looked nervous being locked on the arm of the notorious villain, Freddie Thompson.

Tasha didn’t bother to acknowledge them. She hated screws nearly as much as she hated the police. She’d come across enough of them in her time when she’d visited friends and relatives in prison to know the majority of them were trumped up little bullies who would, if they had the guts, give Freddie a seeing to.

Freddie watched his wife. He hadn’t seen her for a while after she’d cancelled the last prison visit. It was good to see her, especially after a sweltering two hundred mile ride in the prison van, stuck listening to the two muppets who called themselves prison officers brag about their latest bit of pussy.

All he wanted to know was how Ray-Ray was doing. Nobody had told him anything. The prison officers had only smirked at him when he’d fought back the tears on the journey, wanting an update and asking if his son was still alive. Tonight though it’d be him who was smirking, after he’d put in a call to one of his men to pay them a little visit. To show them just what happened when they tried to make a fool out of him.

Tasha’s face was drawn and tired, but she still looked as beautiful as the young woman he’d fallen for all those years ago. Not that he’d tell her. He had a reputation to hold onto, even with his wife.

There was something else though, another look on her face he wasn’t quite sure of. She looked nervous. Jumpy. Though he guessed it was to be expected under the circumstances, it somehow made him feel uncomfortable.

He needed her to be strong. To be the Tasha she’d always been. Resilient. Headstrong. Loving. A woman who didn’t demand the emotional attention from him most women would. He didn’t go in for all that crap, but even if he wanted to give it to her, he didn’t know how.

He didn’t like to see her like this. He could see her vulnerability but he didn’t know what to do to make it better. So he did what he did best when he felt unsure. He got angry.

Instead of smiling at Tasha and comforting her like he wanted to do, he snarled, letting his anger show in every word he spoke. ‘Tasha, what the fuck is going on? One minute I’m sitting in my cell feeling jack arse sorry for meself, then the next thing, I’m being told something’s happened to Ray-Ray, but they don’t quite know what, or rather, they won’t tell me what. So now I’m asking you. What the fuck is going on?’

Tasha swallowed. She could see Freddie was frightened because that always made him angry, but then so was she.

‘I don’t know exactly what happened but I know there was a fire and Ray-Ray was in the house. That’s all I know. They’re operating. It doesn’t look good. They don’t know if he’s going to pull through.’

Freddie’s powerful muscular shoulders visibly slumped. His head couldn’t get round it. How was this possible? He’d sent them up to Bradford to be safe. He had to find out if it was an accident. A faulty switch. A gas explosion. Something. Anything.

Nobody had known where they were or at least not many people, but the thought that he could be somehow responsible for his son lying on an operating table tightened Freddie’s stomach. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of a revenge attack because of something he’d done to someone. There was a lot Freddie Thompson could live with but that just wasn’t one of them.

‘Where were you Tash? Where the fuck were you when this was happening because clearly you weren’t at home?’

Tasha paused. She knew Freddie was going to ask this question, but for some reason she hadn’t prepared an answer. She could feel her mouth moving. Twitching to say something, but unable to find the words. Anything she did say would sound like a lie because it would be. And the truth? She just couldn’t say, because her husband could never find out the truth.

Freddie stared at his wife. At forty-four years old she was stunning. Even with her messy hair and crumpled designer clothes, her beauty still shone through. Her skin was pale and lineless. Her face held the darkest, yet softest blue eyes and her lips were full and red.

When he looked at her, he found himself being overtaken by an uncontrollable jealousy. The thought of another man even looking at her made him rage violently inside.

When he’d first met her she was hostessing in a nightclub but he’d put an immediate stop to that. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else lusting after her. His jealousy, however, hadn’t done her any favours. It hadn’t given her the romantic weekends and bunches of flowers, though of course she’d always had access to as much money as she’d wanted. That much was a given. What his jealousy had done was make him treat her harshly. Almost as if it was her fault it made him feel that way. Although he hadn’t used his fists as most of his friends did with their other halves, he’d hurt her in other ways; with verbal punches and put downs which were as harsh and cruel as any physical blow.

He’d shot her down when he knew she hadn’t deserved it. Humiliating her in front of friends and other well-known faces because of his seething jealousy. And the more he’d done it, the angrier he’d got with himself. And that anger had in turn made him do it more. He hadn’t wanted to but he hadn’t been able to stop himself either.

Tasha was smart and he hoped she was smart enough to know that even with all the verbal, he loved her. He’d lay down his life for her. In fact, he’d lay down her life too if she ever thought about cheating or leaving him. All in the name of love, of course.

He knew every part of her so well and as much as his main focus was on Ray-Ray, he continued to look and wait for an answer, because he knew she was up to something. Problem was, he didn’t know quite what.

‘Mrs Thompson?’ The surgeon broke the atmosphere, and the relief even from the prison officers was palpable.

‘I’m her husband, so you can speak to me. Anything you’ve got to say to her. Tell me mate.’

The surgeon looked at Freddie before letting his eyes wander down to the handcuffs, staring at them with clear disdain on his face. Freddie sneered as he leaned in towards the surgeon, causing the man to blush and take a step back.

‘Never been chained up before doc? You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘Freddie!’ Tasha shot her husband a stare as she tried to take hold of his hand, both for support and to try to calm him down, but she found it being pushed away by the slightly taller guard.

‘You know the rule, Mrs Thompson. No physical contact.’

Ignoring and turning her back on the prison officer, Tasha spoke to the surgeon, afraid of what she might hear.

‘Sorry darlin’ but don’t mind Freddie, as you can imagine it’s very difficult for both of us. Is our son okay?’

Bristling, and unnerved now by Freddie’s continuing hostile stare, the surgeon tried to create a professional environment once more. He cleared his throat and directed his entire conversation to Tasha. ‘We’ve just finished the operation and we’ve taken him to intensive care now.’

‘But he’s going to be okay though Doc?’ The tone in Freddie’s question frightened Tasha into answering her husband before the surgeon managed to. She’d never heard him sound so vulnerable.

‘Of course he is; why wouldn’t he be?’

‘He’s got some extensive injuries. Look Mrs Thompson, shall we go somewhere and sit down, so I can explain properly what’s happened to your son?’

Agitated now, Tasha snapped at the surgeon. ‘I don’t need to bleeding sit down, ain’t nothing wrong with me. Just tell me what’s going on.’

‘Okay well, we removed his clothes under anaesthetic and he’s sustained a number of burns, unfortunately including burns on his face, which will probably be quite disfiguring.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘But he’s been lucky.’

Freddie growled at the surgeon. ‘You call being turned into the fucking elephant man lucky?’

‘I know there’ll be a lot of adjusting but he really is lucky. It could’ve been much worse. He’ll be in intensive care for the next few days and after that we’ll reassess the situation. The other thing I …’

The black beeper attached to the surgeon’s scrubs sounded loudly. Glancing at it, he quickly started to rush away down the corridor. ‘I’m sorry I have to go. I’ll come back later to explain anything else, but he’s in good hands and the intensive care nurses will be able to answer any of your questions.’

Part of Tasha wanted to be angry and call after the doctor for leaving without telling her all the facts, but the frightened part of her was happy to let him go; relieved for just one more moment where she could pretend everything was going to be fine.

Standing in the side room with Freddie and the prison officers, Tasha wrapped her arms around her waist as if somehow it would stop the wailing sound that seemed to be resonating from every pore in her body. The only thing she could see through the tears was Ray-Ray, lying unconscious, almost unrecognisable in the mummifying bandages.

The smell of Ray-Ray’s burnt skin held thick in the air. Sweet, coppery and nauseating. Tasha was unable to look at her son’s face, not wanting to see the bandages, knowing the sweet, beautiful face she kissed only a few hours ago was no longer there. In its place was the face of a stranger.

She looked down his body and saw what looked like metal clamps sticking out of his leg.

‘Why has he got them?’

The nurse smiled sympathetically and spoke in barely a whisper. ‘His shin was splintered in three places. The surgeon needed to …’

She was cut off abruptly by Freddie. ‘Splintered? What … what are you talking about? I thought he was caught up in a fire.’

‘He was, but he also has damage to his leg.’

‘Can a fire cause that?’ As Tasha said it she knew it sounded ridiculous, but rather ridiculous than let the thought which was slowly coming into her head creep in.

Freddie turned to Tasha, his face red. ‘Don’t talk fucking bollocks Tash. There ain’t no fire which breaks legs.’

The nurse looked at them kindly. ‘Didn’t the surgeon tell you? The fire didn’t actually cause any damage.’

‘But I don’t understand; he’s been burnt?’

‘Not by the fire Mrs Thompson. He only suffered smoke inhalation from that. His burns have been caused by acid. They’re chemical burns.’

It took Tasha only a moment. Only a slight pause, before she leapt at Freddie. She lashed out, throwing her arms everywhere and bringing them down into contact with Freddie’s powerful chest. She reined the blows down as the prison officers tried to pull Freddie away, but he stood firmly rooted to the spot, watching as his wife’s tears poured out and he allowed her to take her anger out on him. And although the punches didn’t hurt on a man like him, the physical contact made him feel slightly better, although his expression stayed the same. Cold, hard and unmoving.

Tasha stopped, exhausted and her speech was laboured as she hissed at her husband. ‘This is your fault Freddie. The reason my son is lying here is because of you and your stupid, stupid business. Because of you his life is ruined. I will never forgive you for this. You hear me. Never!’ Tasha screamed out the last word then ran out of the private room, almost knocking into a group of student nurses.

In the corridor, she leant on the wall, breathing deeply, and welcoming the feel of the cool of the concrete seep through her shirt onto her skin.

‘Tash!’

She turned her head and saw Freddie being walked down the corridor the other way, being taken back to the prison van. He shouted to her as he was led away. ‘Tash, I’ll sort it. I’ll get whoever did this … I promise. Tash, don’t ignore me. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t want this to happen did I? Tasha? … Tasha? … I’ll call you, okay?’

Tasha Thompson didn’t bother looking at her husband. It was the first time she’d ever turned her back on him, and both of them knew it. As she walked into the July sunshine she looked up, enviously watching a single plane cut through the crystal-blue sky. She’d no idea where it was going but that didn’t matter; if she was given half the chance she’d be on it, because it was going somewhere. Somewhere other than here and somewhere would’ve been good enough for her.

Getting out her phone she sighed, knowing today was a turning point. Today, Tash’s life had changed forever.

‘Hello, it’s me.’

‘Hey, is everything all right?’

The voice on the other end was warm and kind, making the guilt Tasha had disappear. Despite what she’d thought earlier, she needed him now more than ever. His voice always had that effect on her. It always made her ask herself how could something this good be wrong?

‘No, not really it’s …’

Tasha trailed off, unable to explain and not wanting to break down into tears.

‘Listen, don’t try to tell me now. Shall I come and pick you up? Are you still at the hospital? We could have a coffee or something.’

Tasha paused then quickly said, ‘Yes, okay, I’d like that. I’m at the entrance but I can’t go far in case he wakes up. I want to be here when he comes round.’

‘I’ll jump in the car now. I’ll only be ten minutes. And sweetheart, try not to worry.’

As Tasha put the phone down, Arnold smiled to himself as he got his car keys out. He liked her. She was perfect. Just perfect.

8

Laila could see the grounds of Bradford Royal Infirmary as she looked out of the plane window. Everything seemed so small and unreal from the air, like a picture postcard from the sky. A leisurely summer’s day in Bradford, everyone getting along with their lives without a care.

She was invisible to all of them. High up in the sky, no one knowing where she was going. No one caring. But Laila cared, and she was terrified. There were so many questions she wanted to ask but there was no one to answer them. So the questions just went round and round in her head, terrifying her more with each recurrence of thought.

How long was she going for? When would she come back? Would she come back? That was the worst question of all and part of Laila was pleased her brother – who was sitting next to her, flicking through a motorcycle magazine – wouldn’t answer.

Islamabad. She hadn’t even been to Spain, let alone a country thousands of miles away. She didn’t know anything much about the country, not really about it. Not the things you really needed to know. Of course she knew about the history, the culture, the food and where it was in relation to Afghanistan; she’d learnt it all in school. She even knew enough about the conflicts and the different religious divisions to get an A-star in her history homework. She knew all that. What she didn’t know was about the real things. The things that mattered to everyday life.

How could she possibly go somewhere when she didn’t even know where to take a bus, where to buy chocolate or some underwear, or even where the Ladies toilets were? It was those things that mattered and it was those things she didn’t know.

Yet the biggest thing, the thing which scared her the most besides marrying a stranger, was how to live in a country when she didn’t speak the language. Yes, she knew and understood the odd word of Urdu but not enough to live there. But that was the point wasn’t it? She didn’t want to live there and until yesterday she hadn’t planned on even going. She didn’t want to go, yet here she was sitting on a plane, unable to get off, unable to do anything apart from what her family told her to do.

With the thoughts came the tears and Laila sniffed loudly. A moment later, Mahmood’s harsh voice was heard. Not for the first time that day, Laila Khan wished above all things her beloved father was still alive.

‘I can tell you this now Laila; I’m not sitting here the whole way to Pakistan with you sniffing away.’

Tariq looked at his sister. The guilt he felt was indescribable and the last thing he felt he could cope with was a whole journey of his sister’s tears whilst his uncle chastised her. Even though he’d been told both by his uncle and his mother it was part of his duty as her brother to take Laila to Pakistan and see her married off, truthfully, he could do without the whole trip.

Still, perhaps it’d be worth it in the end. Once she was married their uncle could stop being so angry with Laila. Tariq hated seeing him being so cruel to her. And as long as she didn’t mess up, maybe Laila’s torment would soon be over.

Exhausted, Tariq leaned back in his seat moving his head slightly to get a more comfortable position on the hard headrest. His uncle had refused to pay for first class and so for the next few hours he was going to be stuck squashed between his sister who didn’t sound like she was going to stop crying and his uncle, who’d somehow managed to get through customs with a container of homemade stuffed paratha and was already tucking into it, stinking the stale air.

Tariq closed his eyes and thought about the events of last night. He shuddered. Partly from what had happened to Ray-Ray and partly through his own fear and shame of being involved with it all. He supposed lying low in Pakistan until everything had died down wasn’t a bad idea. He didn’t think anyone had seen them but Pakistan was a good place to hide. It had different rules. His uncle had told him over and over again how the country acknowledged the importance of men being men. Only a few months ago they’d had the conversation.

‘How can men and women be equal Tariq? It’s like saying a zebra is the same as a lion.’

‘What about education uncle, don’t you think women have a right to that? Maybe it’d be worth Laila finishing off her education. I know my father would’ve wanted that?’

His uncle had stared at him and shook his head as he stood in the kitchen at home, a look of disappointment and scorn on his face. ‘Your father did a lot of damage. He made the mistake of letting you think we can choose our paths, when in fact our paths are chosen for us. Why fill Laila’s head with things which will only lead to disobedience? We will guide her and then, when the time comes, her husband will guide her. That’s the way it should be.’

Tariq broke his thoughts, uncomfortable, as he moved his head again hoping for some slight relief on the headrest. He sighed. How could he think his uncle was right, because that would mean his father had been wrong? He didn’t like to think like that. In fact, Tariq didn’t like to think of his father at all; it was easier. For one thing, it meant he didn’t have to question his uncle or for that matter, himself. But mainly he didn’t like to think of his father because he missed him. Missed the life which used to be.

Laila watched her brother, who was asleep. Gently, she placed a blanket over him. It was getting dark outside and it was also getting cold. The air stewardess smiled at Laila but wasn’t able to see the small smile in return. Her uncle hadn’t allowed her to take off the burka and she didn’t suppose she’d be able to until they arrived at wherever they were going.

Laila glanced at Tariq again, trying to keep her thoughts away from Ray-Ray and trying to stop herself imagining what her uncle might have done to him in his anger. Tariq had also been angry last night which she hated to see, but now as he slept he looked a different person, his face relaxed and free of any sternness. It was tragic, but it felt like it was only when he slept that she could be close to him, closing the void which had developed between them and recognising the brother she so dearly loved.

When their father had died a year ago, and their uncle who they only knew from short, strained yearly visits had come across from Pakistan to live with them, he’d taken over as head of the family, and Tariq had changed, although admittedly he had been forced to. He’d gone from a protective loving brother to a chastising angry one, who each morning scolded her over the breakfast table or when he came home from work at night. It was almost as if he was playing a role. A role their uncle had given him; one which didn’t really fit. At times Tariq seemed cruel, harsh, but Laila knew that wasn’t who he really was, but what their uncle expected of him.

The pressure to be a man when he was only a boy had taken its toll on Tariq. Like her, he’d been expected to take on a different role overnight. A role no one had warned them about when their father had still been alive.

When he’d been alive they’d talked, dreamt and loved one another. But their uncle had put a stop to that before their father had even been cold in the ground. Now she barely said a word to her mother or Tariq, and neither did they to her. And even though she knew hatred was against all her teachings, Laila struggled not to hate her uncle with a vengeance.

Tariq had been good at so many things when he’d been younger; he’d been especially good at football. Their father had often told Tariq he was certain he’d be the first Pakistani goalkeeper playing for England.

But only a month after the funeral, Tariq had come home from school, walked into the garden and set his football kit on fire. Their uncle had stood a few feet behind Tariq patting him on the back as the flames leapt into the air.

She’d looked at Tariq from the kitchen door, watching in puzzlement before her brother had turned to her angrily, answering a question she hadn’t asked but only thought.

‘There’s no point in having it Laila. There’s no time for playing; that’s what boys do.’

‘But Tariq …’

Mahmood had jumped in then. ‘Enough Laila. When will you learn it’s not our place and certainly not your place to question what we’re called to do? Your brother’s made up his mind.’

‘You mean you’ve made up his mind for him? You haven’t even bothered to see him play. Have you ever thought he could’ve been called to do that? A gift he was blessed with, uncle?’ That day was the first time Laila’s uncle had hit her.